


Like Champagne

by murmuresdevanille



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Unrequited Crush, Unrequited Lust, but still really young, no real sexual content though, they're legal age
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-31
Updated: 2016-12-31
Packaged: 2018-09-13 15:26:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,701
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9130432
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/murmuresdevanille/pseuds/murmuresdevanille
Summary: Christophe Giacometti reflects on his sexuality, his love life, and his past and present relationships with Viktor Nikiforov.(It's not smut, I promise.)





	

**Author's Note:**

> I've always been fascinated with Chris's character, so writing this was a good way for me to explore a bit!

If Christophe Giacometti had to choose one word to describe himself, it would probably be “sexy.” If he was to be honest - and Chris was a straightforward, although not quite so straight, man - if _anyone_ had to choose one word to describe him, it would probably be “sexy.” Surely, it was not difficult to see why. At 182 cm tall with muscular arms, smooth skin, toned legs, and a _super_ cute butt, there were few who could deny that Chris was an attractive man. Not to mention, he thought as he pushed back his shaggy dyed blond hair, he could work a pole like there was no tomorrow - did they _see_ his Spatchcock?

It wasn’t always like this, he mused. He wasn’t always the sort of man who would carry around a portable stripper pole in his suit jacket, but hey, life happens.

 

* * *

 

Chris actually remembered the first time he met Viktor Nikiforov. It was 2006, late January. He had just made his senior debut, and Viktor, oh Viktor! He was stunning on the ice, a crown of blue roses perched on his silver hair, and his blue feathery costume flapping and trailing behind him with his hair, everything positively glinting. Christophe was fifteen years old, fresh faced and young, and he could not take his eyes off of Viktor. He did not realize how far forward he was leaning and how tight his hands were clasped until his coach had to push him back so he would not fall out of the stands. Even at the age of seventeen, Viktor was already a king. He knew exactly how to entrance the crowd, and Christophe watched as he stood in the middle of the podium, smiling a toothy grin and holding up his new gold medal for the world to see. Age seventeen and already at the top of the world; he was incredible.

Christophe was not sure what compelled him to call out to Viktor. Perhaps it was the excitement of his own senior debut, or maybe it was knowing that someone his age was also able to win gold out on the ice, but whatever the reason, he acted on his urge.

“Viktor! Congrats!” he excitedly yelled, just as the other boy was stepping out of the rink.

Chris never forgot the look on Viktor’s face. For a second, the look of quiet contentment was replaced with surprise before melting into what he thought could only be glee.

“What’s your name?” Viktor asked.

Christophe could not have been happier. The Europeans gold medalist wanted to know his name! Him, a boy who had just made his senior debut that year! “Christophe Giacometti!”

And Viktor had smiled - smiled! - and replied, “Okay!” In one elegant motion, he tossed a slender rose wrapped in plastic, one of the many that his adoring fans had flung at him, up at Christophe, who caught it in surprise.

“Chris, see you at Worlds!”

Christophe Giacometti did not have many friends. He had a few people at school that he liked to talk to from time to time, but most people he knew were more into partying or sex than skating, and he wasn’t into either. People at his school made fun of him often because of his innocence, making dirty jokes that he didn’t understand. The only person who didn’t think of him as a prepubescent brat, or so it seemed, was Stephen, a quiet boy who sat in front of him in literature class. Stephen was really nice, had the prettiest green eyes Christophe had ever seen, and would spend hours and hours with him in the library trying to get the skater to actually understand Voltaire’s _Candide_ . Truth be told, Christophe could not have cared less what happened to Candide, but he could have listened to Stephen read out loud “ _leurs bouches se rencontrèrent, leurs yeux s’enflammèrent, leurs genoux tremblèrent_ ” for hours (and he often did) before the green-eyed boy reminded the hazel-eyed one that they were _literally still on chapter one_. So yes, Stephen was kind and patient with Christophe, but even he had never given him a nickname.

Viktor was the first person to ever call him “Chris.” Somehow, he found it even more endearing than the way Stephen pronounced “bouches” and “tremblèrent.” There was something about it that Chris liked. He had called him Chris, like they were friends. To Chris, that felt intimate. He did not know why, but the way the word “Chris” fell from Viktor’s lips made his heart start pounding and his cheeks lifted in a smile and reddened when he thought about it.

That night, Chris had slept with the rose under his pillow in the hotel room. It crinkled a little when he shifted on his bed, but he didn’t mind. After all, Viktor had given it to him, so it was kind of like a good luck charm, right?

 

* * *

 

Chris watched Yuuri Katsuki as he danced against Viktor. He knew the look in Yuuri’s eyes, that admiration for a skater so far above him that he seemed almost unattainable until he wasn’t. The blush that spread across Yuuri’s cheeks, yeah, maybe it was caused by alcohol, but hadn’t that same blush spread across his cheeks when he was much younger? He remembered how he hoped that rose would last until he got back to Geneva. He had been so young, so _naive_. When had that changed?

 

* * *

 

He knows exactly when, actually. It was after Worlds of 2006. Viktor had won gold again, of course. Chris, in his first year at Worlds in the senior division, had not quite made the podium, placing fourth instead. Even so, he had graciously congratulated Viktor, who, to his surprise, had remembered him and invited him out to dinner.

They went to some little place in Calgary, their coaches allowing the two young men to go off on their own as long as they were back at the hotel by midnight. Chris noticed that Yakov, Viktor’s coach, was not particularly happy about letting Viktor go, or indeed, that he seemed not to allow Viktor to go at all. Chris’s coach, on the other hand, had simply hugged the boy and told him to be safe and have fun with Viktor.

Chris learned very quickly that Viktor, while an amazing skater, was not as stuck-up as all the other young skaters thought he was. For one, he didn’t talk much about himself. Instead, he seemed to want to know everything about Chris. Question after question, like whether Chris liked dogs, what his favorite food was, what his favorite color was. To be honest, Chris was flattered that Viktor was paying so much attention to him. Not only was Viktor someone he admired, but if he was true to himself, he had to admit that Viktor was really handsome. Chris watched as the older boy’s blue eyes lit up like the water at the bottom of the pool on a sunny day.

“ _Vkusno_!” the seventeen-year-old cried, his eyes shining, as he bit into the round, golden onion ring. “It’s like being in love…” the Worlds champion’s eyes were glimmering, dreamy, but then they locked onto Chris. “Have you ever been in love, Chris?”

Chris took a misshapen onion ring from the grease-stained red and white checked paper in the wire basket and nibbled it. “Nah,” he replied, hopefully nonchalantly. He was painfully aware of his heart beating so loudly that his ears throbbed. He hoped Viktor didn’t notice it because it felt like it was loud enough for the entire restaurant to hear.

Viktor chuckled a bit. “You’re so innocent, Chris.” And Chris felt betrayed for the very first time in his life. Here he thought he was level with Viktor, an equal, a skater at the World championships, and yet, Viktor saw him as a child, not an adult.

Yes, that was how it happened. Chris remembered it well, that feeling of betrayal. But even then, he had wanted to please Viktor. Viktor Nikiforov was the human embodiment of champagne. He was bubbly and bright, sophisticated and fluid. He was oh so persuasive, his very eyes rendering you incapable of making rational decisions.

Christophe Giacometti was no stranger to champagne. He had been drinking it at family parties and swiped a few drinks over weekends ever since he was twelve years old. Viktor intoxicated him in a way that two or three or four glasses of champagne could not. So the first thing he did upon returning home was to go on the Internet and Google “how to sex.”

Apparently, “how to sex” is not something his parents, his teachers, or his coach wanted to see on his computer screen. Chris did not care. He wanted to show everyone how grown up he was. Heck, forget everyone else, he wanted _Viktor_ to see how grown up he was. An adult. He would be mature, and god _dammit_ , if that meant he had to receive lecture upon lecture about porn and puberty, well, so be it.

The first time, he was nervous. Stephen had kissed him, gently at first, but then became much rougher, a storm building up from a gentle rain. At the height of their makeout session, the green-eyed boy who beautifully lisped “bouches” stopped and gently touched Chris’s face. “Are you sure about this, Christophe?” he had asked, and Chris had nodded, initiating another kiss before it led into something more, something intimate and sensual and almost painful, and yet oh so satisfying. And then the millions of times after that, it was easier, each time amazing and colorful and passionate, but that first time with Stephen was like the first sip of champagne, sparkling and rich and just the tiniest bit unpleasant, but so _adult_ , so _mature_.

By the time Chris was eighteen and Viktor was twenty, both of them had made the podium plenty of times, but always, _always_ with Viktor in the middle. He wondered how he might surpass Viktor one day. Ever since that first time with Stephen, Chris drew more and more on sex appeal in his performances. He started off slow in every competition, almost missing qualifying for Europeans one year, but he always saved his best performance for the climax, for when he had to compete against Viktor.

There was one night, after Europeans, where Viktor had won yet another gold, and Chris was in his room. The two had been joking around about how Chris had come on the ice that night, all flair and sensuality, his spandex suit just slightly tighter than the usual skating costume and slightly too sheer.

“I don’t know, Chris, seems a bit tacky to me,” Viktor chuckled as he stood in front of the hotel’s full length mirror combing out his long, silver hair.

Chris snorted, and he squeezed Viktor’s butt gently. “Says the man wearing sparkly tights with his long silver hair.” Okay, Chris had to admit, though, Viktor looked _hot_ in those sparkly tights.

Viktor laughed again, melting the younger man’s heart. Chris looked in the mirror, admiring the way his body draped over Viktor’s and, realizing their close vicinity, he almost blushed as he mentally undressed his best friend (but only almost because he’s seen some really cute naked guys before).

He realized with a little shock that he was now taller than Viktor whereas when they first met, Viktor made him feel like an ant.

“Say, Chris,” Viktor hummed, amused, “have you ever had sex? For real? I mean, you’ve got this whole sex appeal thing going on, but is it just a trick? I bet you’re just a virgin, really,” he teased.

Chris batted his long lashes in mock innocence. “ _Moi_ ? Of course _non_ ,” he said in his best snooty French accent, pretending to be offended. He laughed at Viktor’s demure expression. “I mean, of course I’ve had sex, Viktor. You don’t get to be as sexy as Christophe Giacometti without first having actual sex.”

Viktor looked amazed. “Really?” His mouth curved in a heart the way Chris knew it did when Viktor had an exceedingly stupid idea.

“What’s your stupid idea this time?” he asked before Viktor could ask anything else.

Viktor pouted. “It was _not_ a stupid idea!” he scoffed in false offense. “I’m hurt! I’m just going to go die because you’ve wounded me,” he feigned pain and sorrow, spiraling down to the floor with his arm flung over his forehead.

Chris snorted. “You only ever have stupid ideas, _mon ami_.”

Viktor’s expression shifted, no longer playful, but contemplative. “What’s it like? Sex?”

His best friend arched an eyebrow. “What, with a guy or a girl?”

Now it was Viktor’s turn to look surprised. “Wait, wait, wait, you mean you've _actually_ had sex before? What happened to sweet, innocent Chris running through the Swiss meadows?”

“He learned how to use a condom and lube,” Chris retorted, smacking Viktor’s bum again.

“So. Sex. What's it like?”

The younger skater smiled, rubbing his chin that was now growing stubble (thank _god_ puberty hit when he was seventeen) with a dreamy expression. “The best thing in the whole world? It's… Umm… Like… Like champagne, I guess.” He stopped himself before adding _like you_. There was no way he was admitting Viktor was a sexy beast. “I dunno, you just know it when you do it.”

“Should we try?” Viktor asked. He was blunt as ever, Chris supposed. Still, he couldn't help but think of Stephen, blushy and flustered the first time. Would Viktor be like that, too? For three years, Chris had dreamt of this moment. He had dreamed of the way Viktor would take him in his hands, slowly twisting his fingers into Chris’s hair as Chris ran his hands through Viktor’s. He had fantasized about their lips slowly meeting and then each and every time, his heart had pounded, and his face rouged whenever he thought about the kiss and what came after. Three whole years.

But now here they were, those fantasies realized, and Chris felt nothing. It was not explosive and twinkling like with Stephen or even average and flat like with that girl from chem class. It was just wrong.

“How was I?” Viktor asked afterward, breathless. They lay side by side on the hotel bed, naked, staring up at the ceiling.

Chris counted to five in his head, trying to gauge his feelings. _Just be honest_. “Um. Weird.”

“Good weird or bad weird?” Viktor shifted, looking at his friend, his head still nestled on top of the sheets.

Chris also shifted to look at Viktor. “I don’t know. You’re inexperienced, I guess. You’re awkward, which is totally natural for your first time.”

“So I didn’t turn you on?” Viktor asked teasingly, smirking a little. Chris could detect just the slightest hint of confusion in his voice, and - was that disappointment?

 _Not at all_ , Chris thought. “Eh, it’s always weird doing it with friends,” he said out loud.

“Hmmmm,” Viktor mused. His blue eyes were sparkling with something like sadness. “Yeah, it is a little weird. But I guess not all of us are lucky enough to have a lover who we care about and who’ll do us, huh?”

 _Viktor, you bastard, are you bitter about me and Stephen?_ Naturally, Chris had texted Viktor about Stephen and about their dates, but he had never discussed his sexual exploits. Of course, Viktor was a smart man; Chris knew that. He would’ve guessed that Stephen and Chris had done more than just kissing the _instant_ Chris admitted he was not a virgin.

Viktor was an idiot, Chris realized. Sex wasn’t about lust or being turned on in the heat of the moment. Sex was like figure skating. It was something intimate that you just had to do for yourself, and it’s that release from the real world, that sense of only you and your partner or you and the ice, alone in the whole world, doing a dance that only you could feel, gliding past or grazing against each other, something violent and angry and gentle and loving and full of the most shattering heartbreak and the most unbridled joy at the same time.

But Viktor could not see that. Viktor had sex the way normal people did their taxes. It was just another thing to do, nothing special.

 _Skaters’ hearts are fragile_ , Chris recalled Viktor saying that once. The very moment when Chris realized that Viktor did not understand what sex was really like, he understood what his friend had meant. How could Viktor possibly skate so beautifully and yet have no concept of the intimacy in sex? How could he not see how similar the two were and yet still surpass Chris on the ice? For four years, ever since he watched Viktor debut in the senior division, Christophe Giacometti had idolized Viktor. Even when they skated at the same level, even when the two of them became close friends, there was a part of Chris that put Viktor on a pedestal. Now, Chris watched as his best friend fell from that pedestal, unaware that he had fallen. It was a little sad, but Viktor was Chris’s first love, an unattainable love like every first love, and every first love must give way to nostalgia.

Christophe Giacometti was only eighteen years old, lying on his best friend’s hotel room bed after the worst sex he ever had, when his first love gave way to nostalgia.

It was the night when he first swore with total conviction that one day, _one day_ , he would surpass Viktor Nikiforov. He would make Viktor see.

 

* * *

 

Yet six years later, at age 24, Chris was still living in Viktor’s shadow. Six years since he made that resolution, and six years of silver or bronze at every competition. Never gold, no, because the golden boy was forever Viktor. Only Viktor could be gold, only Viktor could be champagne. A tiny piece of him grimaced when he thought about it. Champagne had a sour taste to it, though. Chris felt bad for Viktor, forever alone, admired but unloved. What was a gold medal and genius when even the ice wasn’t a good enough lover? Chris smiled outwardly, laughed it off. He was happy for Viktor, naturally. How could he not be happy for his best friend? Besides, life was no fun without a challenge. He took a sip of champagne, feeling the sweat evaporate off of his naked back. He made a face. He had forgotten how much champagne stung.

 

* * *

 

“ _Salut, mon cher_ ,” Chris kissed Stephen on the cheek as soon as he got back to their home in Geneva. “Did you watch my performance? What did you think?”

Stephen rolled his eyes, a small smile on his face. “It was… erotic.”

Chris smirked. “ _Es-tu jaloux_?”

Stephen kissed him back. “ _Tu veux que je sois jaloux_?”

“ _Non_ ,” he replied. “I wish Viktor was jealous, though, because he doesn’t have a hot boyfriend like I do. All that appeal, no one to share it with, and he still does better than I do on the ice.”

“Do you think about me?” Stephen asked, nonchalantly flipping through a magazine. “On the ice, I mean? I know what face you make when you come. So is it me?”

Chris flopped down on the couch next to his boyfriend. “Mmmmm, do you really want to know?”

“It’s not,” Stephen answered his own question.

“ _Mon cher_ …”

“ _Non, Christophe, ne t’inquiètes pas, ce n’est pas grave_.” He smiled, playing with Chris’s hair a little and running his hand over his stubbly chin. “I don’t mind. You can even do it with other guys if you want, as long as you’re safe.”

Chris looked at Stephen. “So you heard about me and Viktor, huh?”

“I didn’t,” the other man shrugged. “But it’s your life.” He tilted Chris’s chin upward. “I like your stubble,” he said softly before turning back to his newspaper.

“Hey, Steph,” Chris whispered.

“Hmm?”

“You know I love you, right?”

“Yeah, I know,” Chris’s boyfriend replied. “Just do me a favor and never grow out an afro again. It’s not a good look for you.”

Chris draped himself over his boyfriend, kissing his neck and his cheek. “ _D’accoooooord_ ,” he purred.

“ _Christophe_ ,” his boyfriend pushed him off.

“ _Ohhhhh, j’t’veeeeeeeux_ ,” Chris moaned, nuzzling against the other man’s neck as Stephen laughed and pushed him away again.

“Not now,” he shushed. “It’s a sin, you know. Plus we’re only teenagers.”

Now Chris rolled his eyes. “We’ve been doing it since we were sixteen, Steph. _Depuis deux ans_.”

Stephen patted Chris’s bleached hair. “And you’re great, but I don’t feel like it right now.” He placed the tip of his index finger on Chris’s nose. “C’mon, _dis-moi_ , how was the Grand Prix?” He smirked. “How was _Viktor_?”

Chris blinked. “Viktor? He’s fine.”

Stephen snorted. “You know what I mean.” He hesitated. “Was he better? Than me?”

The bleached blond vehemently shook his head. “It was weird. Viktor, you know, he doesn’t get it. He thinks it’s about the sex, but it really isn’t, you know? It’s about…”

“Release,” Stephen breathed, his fingers now grazing softly over Chris’s bottom lip.

“Mmmmm,” Chris mumbled, closing his eyes in ecstasy. “Well, you’d know. You always…”

“Don’t say it.”

“Come too early.”

“ _Va-t’en_ ,” Stephen pouted, poking Chris in the cheek.

“Seriously.”

“Did Viktor?”

Chris made a small choking noise. “Can we not talk about Viktor?”

“Am I better than Viktor?”

The silver medalist reached up and kissed Stephen gently on the lips. “Yes. And I will be, too, on the ice.”

 

* * *

 

Chris pushed his hair back, jacket in his left hand, his black thong stuck to his glutes and his legs aching from all that pole dancing. Yuuri Katsuki was grinding on Viktor, and Chris was intrigued. Maybe one day, he’d have to hit that, too. The guy was a _great_ pole dancer. He’d let Stephen know when he got home.

“Be my coooooach, Viktooooooor!” that hot, drunken mess cried and wrapped his arms around Viktor.

Viktor gasped, his eyes wide and sparkling, his cheeks pink - but not from alcohol, Chris knew.

Chris grinned to himself. _Karma’s a bitch, isn’t it, Viktor_?

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed it!
> 
> Translation notes:  
> "leurs bouches se rencontrèrent, leurs yeux s’enflammèrent, leurs genoux tremblèrent" - their lips met, their eyes blazed, their knees trembled (I hope, my French is rusty, and simple form wasn't something I studied much - it really is the first chapter of Candide, though)  
> "Vkusno!" - Delicious!  
> "mon ami" - my friend  
> "Salut, mon cher" - Hi, my dear  
> "Es-tu jaloux?" - Are you jealous?  
> “Non, Christophe, ne t’inquiètes pas, ce n’est pas grave.” - No, Christophe, don't worry, it's no big deal.  
> "D'accord" - Okay  
> "Je te veux" - I want you (I hope)  
> "Depuis deux ans" - For two years  
> "Va-t'en" - Go away


End file.
